Keys of Emotion
by SomeKCraftyGuy
Summary: As fiery and royal Princess Blaze the Cat is, how could a simple musical instrument mean so much to her? And what's the point of playing it anyway? ONESHOT


14-year-old Blaze the Cat lay on her bed, happily listening to her purple iPod all day. She would listen to it on and on, oblivious to the minutes and hours that pass her by. When she was done listening to it, she would go into the castle kitchen and then grab a snack or something. From there she would hang out with Silver, go outside and burn some things, or go back into her room and listen to her music again. Same routine, every time. The only time she would come out with her family was on meal times, which meant breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

It was very rare for her to actually spend time with her mother and father, or in this case, the king and queen. During the last few months, her grandmother decided to come and stay for a while, and then she would leave to her own kingdom. As a result, Blaze had to come out of her room more often in order to spend time with her grandmother until she leaves again for the next year, then she would revert back to her old ways.

"Blaze!" the king called out to her.

Blaze irritably took off her headphones. "Ugh, yes, father?" she replied, annoyed.

"Come down here!"

Fine, fine, I'm coming. Blaze hesitantly slipped off of her queen-sized bed. "Coming, father!" she shouted back. She walked over to the door of her room and opened it, revealing a large staircase spiraling downwards.

As she walked down the steps, she predicted what her father would say to her. Stop listening to that thing! Assist the chefs in the kitchen! Take your belongings and put it away! Help the servants in the garden! Her parents would say the usual. The chores her parents gave her always required her to walk back and forth on the long, spiraling staircase, which usually gave her legs cramps and aches.

When she finally made it down onto a polished marble floor, she walked over to the so-called throne room. The room was spacious, built with stunning and spectacular architectural designs. Rays from the sun penetrated the room, providing not only light but somewhat a divine effect. And of course there were two thrones, magnificently designed with marble and other materials Blaze couldn't think of. And sitting on those two thrones were her parents, the king and queen.

Her father was a cat like herself, except he had black fur and golden eyes, just like her. He usually wore a long, dark-red cape with kingly clothing. Whenever he speaks, he speaks with authority. His eyes were sharp and intimidating, which can make one freeze on the spot as if they were judging that person. Blaze still debated with herself if her father looked more like a fox than a cat.

Her mother was a cat also, except she had a lighter shade of pink fur than Blaze's. She wears the same clothing Blaze's father is wearing, but hers was a bit lighter and more showy, plus with a pink cape. Her eyes were sky-blue, but unlike her father's, _hers_ showed comfort and mercy, yet she still carried the power of majesty.

She walked until she stood in front of her parents. "I'm here, father."

"Go, practice your piano," her father commanded.

Practice my piano? What?

"Don't give me that look. Go, practice. I haven't heard you play it for months."

Blaze blinked. She was not expecting this. The piano? Really? You got to be kidding me. She dropped her head in disappointment. "Yes, father," she sighed. Then she turned around and headed to the room that contained the ancient instrument.

Greeaat, thought Blaze. Just what I needed, playing the piano. What a waste of my time.

Blaze could remember as far back as playing the piano when she was about six. She was so magnificent on playing it. So beautiful in fact her father showed her off to his relatives and cousins, and them, too, admired her greatly. She plays marvelously, they would say. She plays it with such grace. But, would she be as good back then as now?

Eh, it wouldn't matter much, thought Blaze. I've had 8 years of practice. I'll just play it and my parents would be impressed like always. Ho hum.

She approached the white grand piano, with her grandmother resting on the couch behind it. Blaze sat on the seat that faced the keys of the instrument. The keys were numerous, all of them positioned in patterns. It was intimidating to Blaze at first because she hadn't sat on the seat for so long. She began to doubt herself if she could still be her old self. Could I do this? I mean, like, it's been a looong time since I played this thing.

She tentatively pressed some random keys on the piano, hearing the high-pitched and low-pitched sounds it made. When she finally got bored, she reached into a pile of piano books that were located not far away from her. After she had picked a random piano book, she placed it on the piano stand and looked at it without expression. "Eh," she shrugged. "What the heck."

She opened the book, turning the pages until she got to a certain song called "Song Without Words".

I got this, she thought. I played this song when I was a child, no problem.

She cracked her fingers outward, then she placed both of her hands onto the keys. She started playing the song.

For some reason, her fingers gave way; they didn't know what to do. Muscle memory was absent. She got a bit irritated, so she took a deep breath and then started over. Again, during the song, her fingers didn't know what to do, so she had to read the notes off of the book. It annoyed her again, so she ceased playing and then took some deep breaths again. "Okay, okay," she muttered to herself. "That was just a warm-up. Okay, no big deal."

She played through it again, making some reckless and noticeable mistakes here and there, but she kept going nevertheless. Then, she heard her father's voice, stopping her completely during the song.

"Blaze, you have to practice more, because the way you're playing it doesn't sound… complete." he said from the doorway of the room.

That's what I'm doing, alright?

Blaze played the song all over again acting as if she hadn't heard her father. She played louder and more angrily this time, only to have another mistake stop her completely. Now she was getting frustrated at herself.

"It doesn't sound graceful, Blaze," her father continued. "Because it sounds like you're playing it from the very beginning."

No, really? "That's what I'm doing, father." Blaze replied contemptuously.

"That's not what I meant," her father snapped at her. "It sounds like it's your very first time playing it."

All of a sudden, Blaze's anger quickly left her by the hearing of those words. In that moment, no emotion came to her, leaving her wide-eyed and stricken with awe. She felt like her whole body was all frozen up, not even daring to make the tiniest movement possible.

…Was that an insult?

The words struck Blaze hard, right in the heart. It felt like as if a dagger was pierced through her chest. Her body started to heat up, with steam now rising from her hands. I've been playing this song since I was like… six, father! I've been playing the piano for eight years now, and you're saying that I'm playing like… like… a little kid?

She couldn't cope with all this stress. She abruptly rose from the piano seat with flaming fists and stomped past her father up the stairs to her room, trying to hold back tears of frustration.

She laid on her bed on her back, covering her face with a pillow. She screamed in it and let her tears be absorbed by the silk and cotton on the cushion. She felt her face throb and her throat tightening, making it hard to breathe. How can he say something like that to me? From my own father! Amazing! I was practicing, trying to get better! And he had to make some stupid remark! How could a simple instrument get me all worked up?

The words from her father were still floating around in her head. First time playing it, first time playing it, first time playing it, first time… first time…

After a while, she stopped herself from sobbing any further. Maybe it's my fault, she thought to herself. I haven't been practicing for months, so maybe it's my fault. I guess it was right for him to say that… harsh thing to me. I deserved it anyway. Maybe I should just tell my father how bad of a piano player I am. She slowly took deep breaths in order to let go of the tension and stress that was built up in her chest.

Before she could think of anything else, she heard her grandmother speak to her through her door. "Blaze? Your father's calling for you," she said. He was? Oh, I guess I was just too busy thinking about myself.

Blaze opened the door to see her grandmother standing there, looking worried. "What are you doing, Blaze?" she asked me.

"Hmm? Oh… um… nothing." Blaze lied. I bet she knows, anyway.

"Your father's calling for you," her grandmother said again. Blaze slowly got up from her bed, throwing the pillow onto the floor. Then she approached her grandmother, where they slowly turned around toward the steps.

She continued following her until they got to the castle kitchen, where her grandmother allowed her inside then she slowly went back to her couch. There in the kitchen, Blaze saw her father standing there sternly. Blaze walked right up to him with her hands behind her, acting as if nothing happened during the past hour. "Yes, father?" asked Blaze.

"Why did you stop practicing?" he asked.

Blaze took on a look of anger. "It's because I couldn't take it anymore. I had to step out for a bit. I know I wasn't practicing before, but what you said to me was-"

"Blaze," her father interrupted her. "Back then, you played so _beautifully_ and _gracefully_ on the piano, you showed so much promise with the instrument. You were born with that gift, Blaze, like the gift of your fire powers. The gift wasn't given to you for nothing. Compare you back then and now. What's different?"

Did he just call me down here just to mock me again? "I play the wrong notes all the time?"

"No, Blaze," he answered. "It's not because you were making mistakes, it's because there was no grace put into it."

Ugh, what does he mean by grace anyway?

"What I mean, Blaze, is that you're missing something. You're putting no feeling into it; you're only focusing on how accurate you're playing, with no intention of creating a mood with it. Sure, someday you might be playing the correct notes all the time, but what's the purpose of playing the song if you don't put any passion to it?"

Blaze tried to think of a reason, but nothing came to her mind. She kept her silence.

Her father continued on. "You see, playing the piano isn't just about getting the notes right. It's the feeling and mood and the emotions that it creates through the music produced by the player. By playing the piano Blaze, you can express your emotions through your playing. You can give the music itself a definition, a _meaning_."

Blaze still assumed the same pose looking straight into her father's eyes, but a tear escaped from her eye, streaming down her cheek. Her father continued nevertheless. "Sure, I may see a guy playing a song, playing the correct notes all the time," her father continued. "But it sounds… mechanical, robotic. You know what I mean? Something you would hear out of a computer. The piano isn't meant to sound mechanical, Blaze, it's meant to sound graceful. That's the beauty of it, daughter. Besides, if you don't put your emotions to it, then what's the point of playing it?"

Blaze shook her head.

"You see, daughter, that's what I meant when I said that it was your first time playing it. It sounded like the first few times you were playing it, which was focusing on getting the notes correct. But now that you've mastered that, it's time to truly play the song. It has to be played with feeling, anger, sadness, happiness, all of those! It has to be played with passion! Once you start playing that way, _that's _when you're truly playing the piano. _That's _when it's-"

"Graceful." Blaze finished his sentence. Her father smiled at her. "Yes Blaze, that's what I meant by graceful." he hugged her, with Blaze hugging him back, crying silently into her father's black fur. She had never hugged her father like this before, or as long as she could remember. He would usually be so serious and strict, but this time, it's different.

"Daughter, I didn't mean to discourage you with that remark," her father said. "I meant to encourage you."

"Now I know, father," said Blaze. "I mistook it as if it was an insult, and it felt like you mocked me."

He abruptly shushed her. "No, no Blaze. I meant to help you improve. I wanted to hear the same daughter I have heard all those days ago."

She smiled at him. "I love you, father." she dug her face into her father's fur.

"You too, sweetheart," her father replied.

After they broke the embrace, he smiled at her. "I'll say it again, Blaze. Go, practice the piano." he whispered to her.

Blaze looked up at her father not with disappointment, but this time with eagerness. A feeling that she had never felt in the longest time she could remember. "Yes, father." she promptly bowed her head, then she headed towards the piano room, where she practiced and practiced. Giving it her all, her emotions, how she feels like at times. She played and played with passion, allowing her blazing fingers to dance around the piano keys like they were nothing. Notes loud and soft, slurred and tied came out beautifully, so beautifully in fact the mistakes she made sometimes were drowned out by the harmony of her playing. She kept at it, passing on her emotions to her enthusiastic fingers, with the music doing all the speaking for her.

When she was done playing, it was night time already, with the moonlight shining through the glass windows. She tiredly got up from the seat and approached the huge staircase leading to her room. But before she even touched the handrail of the stairway, she heard her father clap to her, stopping her in her tracks. "Now, _that's _the Blaze I know."


End file.
